The Lies We Live

mom & dad

They've let themselves go. I feel like I'm living with entities that used to be people, but now, only the echo of their most morbid emotions remain. I love them. I will, no matter what they do, or who they become. But sometimes I just wish that for once, they could be people who I'm proud of.

It pains me to admit that my father is one of the most misogynistic people I know. It hurts more because he sees me as the daughter that he needs to marry off soon, instead of the child that will achieve great things in her future. For once, I just wish they would trust me to know what I'm doing. 

He always scolds me, to cover up more, to not go out alone, or wear too much makeup, because one day suitors will come and reject me because of my life choices. He won't let me do my henna gigs at people's houses because he thinks some man may take advantage of me. I'm sorry papa, but I am not the naive little girl you think of me. I know how to take care of myself, and I refuse to live my life in fear of being hurt. I will never fly if I fear the fall.

And he holds our family to a higher status. Because we live comfortably and don't worry about next months' bills. I know you were poor once, and that is why I expected you to be humble when it came to the world. But instead, you tell me that I shouldn't be the henna artist at people's weddings because I will be the girl that's working instead of the girl who enjoys. A cashier is someone who checks out your groceries, not your daughter's part-time job. There is no shame in honest work, and of all people, I thought you knew that. Tutoring poor kids for free because you knew life was already hard enough as it was. 

I think maybe you are afraid that I will have to live like those kids. That I won't make ends meet and no rich boys will want to marry me. You should know that whatever I do, I will succeed in it. I will never be ashamed of being poor, or of a lower status at events. 

I wish you would realize that we are not defined by the people around us. What we do is for the sake of ourselves, and ourselves alone. My art is who I am. And if I become a businesswoman one day and have children, I hope I never treat them like you did me. I hope I am able to teach them that we respect all people, and expect the same from others. That we don't look at some jobs as lesser than our own. I hope they understand, how you never did, that a salary is a bunch of numbers, and we are so much more than that. 

My mom is nothing short of a basket case. In most mother-daughter relationships, there is the caregiver and the child; sadly I have been both.  She will spend summer mornings picking fights over the smallest things. She will spend countless hours on her phone, and throw tantrums that would put a toddler to shame. Sometimes, I don't even think she loves me, because she treats me like trash, and yet still expects me to respect her. 

The house decays because she has abandoned it. We don't go to that many parties because she's so anti-social. She's always in a bad mood, and we're all supposed to tolerate it because she is family, and we can't let other people see how bad our family is really doing. 

My parents' marriage is hanging by a thread, and some days, I am tempted to cut the last tie. To me, a broken family has always looked much better than a family who shoves puzzle pieces that don't fit into each other anymore. 

She has this bitterness inside of her, and I only recognize it because I see it in myself as well. But I now know that holding ill feelings towards is not an excuse to stay stagnant in our own lives. Neither she or I can allow our anger towards others let us be pulled away from the things that really matter. Like family, or happiness. The laundry, and the need to buy more storage space for our house. 

I remember breaking down one night in front of her. Telling her how much it hurt to never have a mother figure in high school. How all my friends seemed to kick it with their moms, and I found myself envious of their fortune. I cried that I couldn't even tell anyone how sad I felt because no one would understand. At first, she tried to put it all on me, how I never listened to her, and how she couldn't be blamed. I replied: "That's classic of you, mom.  Always turning the blame to someone else." She left because she had nothing else to say. I was drifting to sleep when she came back a while later. She ran her fingers through my greasy hair, like she would when I was little. She said she was sorry and that she understood. She said she would try to be a better mother. I kept quiet, but all I really wanted to say was I don't believe you.

They are cars that drive with broken tail lights. They live their days aimlessly and complain about the world around them. I feel the urge to ask them why they don't change it. But they are overflowing with excuses, and I can only look at them in disappointment. 

I now look at them now with a mix of sadness and anger. They act like turning 40 is the same as dying. And they refuse to grow anymore. I wish they would. I wish they would so that they could see, that despite the world changing, it is a beautiful world nonetheless. 

And I wish that they could live in it with me.